


Crusing in Overdrive

by WanderingAlice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley talks to his car, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Bentley just wants Crowley to be happy, gratuitous queen lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:33:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: Crowley talks to the Bentley, in the way some people talk to plants or their pets. After a particularly painful fight between he and his angel, he takes it for a drive.





	1. Ride the Wild Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly I wrote this because I'm driving a rental car for a business trip, and realized how much I treat my car like an extension of myself. If it were sentient, it would probably know more about me than anyone. Then I wondered what would happen to a car driven by a supernatural being for almost 100 years. This was the result.
> 
> Chapter 2 is mostly done, and will be up by the end of the week

Crowley talks to his car in the way that some people talk to plants1. It’s only been with him a short time, relatively speaking, but it’s home, in a way that his flat isn’t. It’s a home he can take with him wherever he goes, be it the sleepy streets of Tadfield or the hellish gridlock of Los Angeles2. It’s not the home he wants, true, but it’s the second best thing. And over time, the Bentley has come to know Crowley, in the limited way a car can _know_ anything. It knows he’s furious when Crowley rips open the door and hisses at the steering wheel. And that he’s happy when he slides in and leans against the seat like one would slip into a warm bath. It can tell from tightness of his grip on the wheel that he’s frustrated, and from the way he taps his fingers on the arm rest that he’s nervous. It knows he feels better when he speeds, when he can feel the miles passing beneath the car’s wheels. It knows other things too, like how much he enjoys Queen, and how wonderful he feels when he’s around his angel. It knows more too, secrets told to the windshield on dark nights, truths shouted at the radio as they speed through London, curses hurled at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, and desperate aching needs whispered to the steering wheel when all that he is and wants and needs becomes too much to contain on his own. It knows, therefore, how he feels about Aziraphale. The whole complicated mess of it, in words from the demon’s own lips while he’s driving around the M25 at midnight like a lunatic being chased by a hell-hound. Everything, from meeting in the Garden down to the argument that sent Crowley running to his sanctuary and driving away so fast he didn’t even notice the angel running after him.

 

Truth be told, the Bentley has come to expect these little jaunts about twice a week, now that both demon and angel are officially off the books of both heaven and hell. They’ve been spending a lot of time together, which the demon loves, but it also terrifies him. The car can feel it, in the shake of his hands as he slides in behind the wheel. There’s something there, something the car can’t quite understand, something that Crowley desperately wants but cannot allow himself to ask for. And that, that the car cannot understand. It _likes_ Aziraphale. Just as much as it likes Crowley. It doesn’t mind that the angel tends to hang on to his seat, or the ‘oh shit’ handle when Crowley drives too fast, or that he doesn’t seem to appreciate the finer points of Queen, because the angel is just so full of love. And he might not like the Bentley on it’s own, but he _does_ love it, because it’s a part of who Crowley is. And that, well, that is really something these two supernatural idiots should be talking to each other about. But no. The angel is off somewhere, probably the bookshop, which is where they left him. And Crowley is driving at 140mph, already on his third loop of the M25.

 

“And then he asked me to take off my glasses. As if he doesn’t look away whenever he meets my eyes. Bloody angel.” Something must have happened. The Bentley hasn’t seen Crowley this upset since he thought the angel was dead. It switches the track to _My Fairy King_. It seemed to fit the mood, if nothing else. Crowley barely notices.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” the demon swears, and slams his hands against the wheel. “Fuck,” he says again, and there’s more emotion behind the word than the car can really understand. “If he’d just… but no. No. He’s still too caught up in the fact that I’m a demon and he’s an angel. He’s scared. I know he is, the bloody idiot. Haven’t I _tried_ to go slow for him?” Contrary to his words, Crowley speeds up, now pushing 160. “Fucking heaven. I couldn’t go any slower if I were a god-blessed _snail_. What more does he want from me?”

 

 _Fires burning in hell with the cry of screaming pain / Son of heaven set me free and let me go_. Crowley blesses and yanks the CD from the player. A moment later he shoves another one into the slot. It should have been Velvet Underground, but the car happily changes it to another Queen CD. This time, it starts up on _Don_ _’t Stop Me Now_.

 

“No. No, I will _not_ sit here waiting like… like a little lost puppy. If he can’t get his act together and tell me how he feels, I - I’m going to leave.” He says it with a desperate grip on the steering while, as if he’s afraid it’ll be taken away from him. “I’ll do it, see if I don’t.” He’s calming down a bit now, but the car can feel the ache radiating out from the driver’s seat. “I slept through a whole century once. I could do it again. See how he likes that.” The car switches the track to _Princes of the Universe_. It’s as much of a pep-talk as it can give.

 

“Or maybe I’ll just _go_. Alpha Centauri, like I said. Or maybe further. Go find somewhere to lick my wounds where he won’t ever find me. Stay there for a few thousand years, and see if _that_ _’s_ enough time.”

 

The Bentley doesn’t like that. If Crowley went away, what would happen to it? Who would drive it? Certainly not the angel. And it can tell, somehow, that Crowley really doesn’t _want_ to go away. But his words are bitter, hurt. He’ll go, not because he wants to, but because it’s the only choice he has left. _Princes of the Universe_ ends, and _Keep Yourself Alive_ starts. A plea from the car to it’s master.

 

_Now they say your folks are telling you / Be a super star/ But I tell you just be satisfied/ Stay right where you are_

Abruptly, the demon drops his forehead to the wheel and bangs it there a few times. “Heaven, what if I’m just fooling myself? What if… what if I’ve just been seeing what I want to see, but it’s not… it’s not like that for him? Satan knows I can’t sense love the way an angel can, not anymore. And he thinks I lie to him. That that’s just… what I _do_.” He sighs, defeated, resting his head against his hands and not watching the road in front of them3. “And you know what’s worse? I never have. I _never lied to him_. Obfuscate? Sure. Refuse to answer? All the time. But never _lied_.” _He_ _’s always been too important for that._ The words went unsaid, but the car could sense them anyway.

 

Without warning, Crowley slams his hands down on the wheel again. “This is pathetic. Look at me. I’m- I’m _pining_. Like a blessed _human_. This is ridiculous. I’m a _demon_. I’m not built to _pine_.” Anger and misery twist his face into something sharp and terrifying as he spits the words. “That’s it. I’m done. Done.” The demon stamps his foot down on the pedal, pushing the poor Bentley now to over 200mph. The music changes again.

 

 _I_ _’m just the pieces of the man I used to be / Too many bitter tears are raining down on me / I’m far away from home / And I’ve been facing this alone / For much too long_

“Too much love will kill you,” Crowley mutters, not sure if he’s stating the truth, or simply the title of the song. It could have been both.

 

 

1 Not the way that _Crowley_ talks to plants, though. He would never even dream of yelling at the Bentley.

2 Crowley is rather proud of LA traffic. It isn’t as great a feat as, say, the M25, but the thought of all that rage brewing as people sit in traffic for hours sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

3 It’s lucky, then, that the Bentley has long since learned how to drive itself. It had to, out of sheer self-preservation. Not that it _liked_ driving itself, cars were made to _be_ driven, after all. But it was nice, sometimes, to know you weren’t always on the brink of being driven to destruction.


	2. Crazy Little Thing Called Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! I meant to post this yesterday, until my flight got delayed and I got stuck in the airport for hours. I hope the conclusion to the story is worth the wait!

Hours pass, and Crowley is still driving. In fact, he’s driven the circuit of the M25 so many times now it’s starting to power up again. Not that Crowley has noticed 1. He just keeps going, pushing the car to its limit in an attempt to outrun his own feelings. The demon has long since stopped talking, though he has been playing _I Want to Break Free_ on repeat for the past hour. The Bentley has tried to change it a few times, but the demon just miracles it back.

 

“But life still goes on / I can’t get used to living without - living without - / Living without you by my side / I don’t want to live alone hey / God knows got to make it on my own / So Angel can’t you see / I’ve got to break free” Crowley sings. The Bentley knows he likes singing. Likes the feel of it, the way he can just let the emotions take over and _let it all out_. He’s good at it too. Once or twice he caught Aziraphale listening as he sang to Warlock, and the look on the angel’s face - no. No. Look, he was even changing the words of the song so he was singing about breaking free from the angel. He _wasn_ _’t_ going to bring that memory up now. The car feels it anyway, the way a good familiar can tell what it’s master needs.

 

_“Bless it,_ ” Crowley says, the weight of everything he feels behind the words. The song ends. He restarts the track. They pass the exit they’d used to get on to the M25, both car and driver having long since lost count of the number of circuits they’ve made. The road is starting to feel electric, power pulsing along its circumference. They should stop, before it gets worse. Crowley keeps his foot on the pedal.

 

Out of nowhere, a figure in white appears on the road ahead of them. The demon yells and wrenches the wheel to the side. The car had already started moving out of the way, and they swing around in a full circle, coming to a stop with the passenger side door next to the angel standing on the tarmac.

 

_I want I want I want I want to breeeaaak free_ comes from the car’s speakers, and the song ends. Neither one notices when _Bohemian Rhapsody_ starts playing.

 

“JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Crowley yells, leaning out to shout over the roof of the car. He’s shaking, fear and anger sending shivers through his body.

 

“I should think that was obvious,” Aziraphale shoots back, a hard edge of anger laced with worry in his voice.

 

“Obvious?” Crowley growls, and the car knows this tone. Crowley doesn’t want to talk right now. And he especially doesn’t want to talk to Aziraphale. “What the heaven is obvious about you standing in the middle of the M25 at - “ he ducks his head back in to the car to quickly check the time. “3am?”

 

“I’ve been calling you for hours,” the angel says, worry overtaking the anger in his tone. “I couldn’t reach you, and I know you won’t be sensible when you’re like this. I was worried you’d gone and done something drastic, like left for Alpha Centauri, or - or found a place to sleep for another century. Then I felt the… whatever it is you did to this road, I felt it start to power up. So I thought I’d better come here and make you talk to me.”

 

It was, of course, the wrong thing to say. Like every other time either of them had been close to admitting to having feelings, the angel had gone and chosen exactly the wrong words2.

 

“ _Make_ me - Oooh,” Crowley’s words trail off in an angry hiss, and he gets back into the car, slamming the door. The Bentley could feel it’s master’s hurt welling up again, just when it had gotten him to start calming down. Without an intervention from the demon all the doors lock shut, keeping the angel out. “Make me talk to him. Hah.” Crowley mutters, reaching for the shift. “Well, I have nothing to say.”

 

_Mama, ooo / Didn_ _’t mean to make you cry / If I’m not back again this time tomorrow / Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters_

The angel tries to open the passenger door, and fails. He tries to miracle the locks open, but the Bentley won’t budge. Aziraphale just undid all the work it had been trying to do to keep Crowley on Earth, and like it’s master the car is not above being petty on occasion.

 

“Crowley, let me in,” Aziraphale demands, and the demon’s head shoots up to watch the angel trying and failing once again to open the door. “Really, my dear. Locking me out is just childish.”

 

“It’s not me,” Crowley protests. “It’s the car!”

 

_Ooh the machine of a dream, such a clean machine_

 

A car, as such, does not feel emotions. However, if one did3, it would, perhaps, feel a sense of possessiveness over its master. Particularly in the face of someone who had caused said master pain. Therefore, it’s choice of song might be meant to indicate a prior hold over said master.

 

“Crowley, you shouldn’t blame your car for - oh. Oh, goodness me. It _is_ the car!” The Bentley could feel Aziraphale’s magic prodding at it like cool water. “Oh my, I hadn’t realized it had become so lively. I suppose it must have, though, after all these years.” He crouches down and addresses the door handle, speaking softly enough Crowley can’t hear it over Queen’s _I_ _’m In Love With My Car_. “I suppose you’re doing this because I’ve hurt him, aren’t you?” The car, of course, makes no reply.4 “I know I’m not very good at this, and I truly don’t _want_ to hurt him. But no matter what I do, I seem to screw it up before I manage to tell him how I feel. I keep chasing him off somehow, and I don’t know how to talk to him when he won’t sit still.” There are too many emotions in his voice, and the Bentley isn’t built to understand any of it, but something like love is hard to mistake, even for a semi-sentient car. It can feel Aziraphale’s love for its master, and it matches the love Crowley has for the angel.

 

“Will you please let me in?” the angel asks, tugging slightly at the handle.

 

The car rumbles a little, thinking it over. Then it pops open the door.

 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale tells it, and it can sense the angel’s gratitude. Once he’s inside, it shuts the door and clicks the locks back into place. “Now,” the angel says, “Where were we?”

 

“Leaving.” Crowley ties to open his door. The Bentley refuses to release it. “ _Car_ ,” the demon growls. “ _Let me out._ ” The Bentley turns up the radio.

 

_Break through these barriers of pain / Break through to sunshine from the rain / Make my feelings known towards you / Turn my heart inside and out for you now / Somehow I have to make this final breakthrough_

Crowley hits the eject button so hard it sticks. _Breakthru_ continues to play, unaffected. “ _You are **my** car, you will do as **I** say,_” he hisses, threat clear in his tone. The Bentley simply starts driving again. Crowley turns to Aziraphale. “What the heaven did you do to my car?”

 

Aziraphale shrugs. “Absolutely nothing. It’s doing this all on its own.”

 

The demon glares at him, then puts both hands on the wheel and accelerates until they’re going 90mph. The silence settles heavy over them as _Breakthru_ ends and _It_ _’s a Hard Life_ begins.

 

_I don_ _’t want my freedom / There’s no reason for living with a broken heart_

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley asks, voice carefully devoid of emotion.

 

Aziraphale lifts a hand from where he’s gripping the edge of his seat. It hovers in the air between them, just over Crowley’s knee. Then he lets it fall back to his side. “I believe I was asking you what _you_ want, but I rather went and made a mess of it I’m afraid.”

 

_It_ _’s a long hard fight / To learn to care for each other / To trust in one another right from the start_

The demon stares at the road, face hidden behind his glasses. The Bentley feels his death-grip on the wheel. “Right. And _I_ was telling _you_ to back off,” he growls, tone a warning against pushing him any further.

 

“My dear-” the angel starts.

 

Crowley interrupts him with a snarl. “ _Stop_. I hate it when you call me that. I’m not your ‘dear’ anything. You don’t even _like_ me.”

 

Aziraphale recoils, and the car can feel the hurt rolling off of each of them. “I didn’t mean that,” the angel says, voice small and pained.

 

“Funny,” Crowley’s voice is cold, and he holds himself unnaturally still in his seat. “I thought lying was my job.”

 

The angel rubs his hands over his face, looking anywhere but at the demon sitting next to him.

 

_How it hurts (yeah) deep inside (oh yeah) / When your love has cut you down to size_

The song fills the silence between them, echoing their pain.

 

“I…” Aziraphale reaches out again, and again fails to make contact. “My- Crowley. _Please_.” There’s a peculiar kind of desperation in his voice, just on the edge of tears and trying valiantly not to react without thought. He’s not squirming in his eat, or gripping the handle, or otherwise reacting to the speed of the car, which is now pushing 120. His focus is now, entirely, on the demon in the driver’s seat.

 

“It’s fine. I understand. I’m a demon. You’re an angel. Six thousand years doesn’t change that.” Softer, in a voice that would have been inaudible had the song not ended at precisely the right time, he adds “I know what I can’t have.”

 

Aziraphale finally puts a hand on Crowley’s arm. “Crowley-”

 

The demon jerks away, but there’s only so far he can go. He looks at the angel, and the hurt is bleeding off of him in waves. “Don’t, angel,” he warns. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

 

“I always want to hear what you have to say,” Aziraphale tells him. “We’re on our own side, remember?”

 

_Ooh you_ _’re the best friend that I ever had / I’ve been with you such a long time / You’re my sunshine and I want you to know / That my feelings are true_

Crowley shakes his head, looking away. “You can’t be asking me to believe you actually want to be on a side with me.”

 

“I am,” the angel says firmly. “And I do. Want to be on a side with you, that is. And you _know_ that, when you’re not acting foolish.”

 

_Ooh you make me live / Whenever this world is cruel to me / I got you to help me forgive / Ooh you make me live now honey_

Crowley says nothing. He keeps his eyes on the road and a death-grip on the wheel. He’s practically vibrating in his seat he’s so tense. At his side, Aziraphale watches him with sad, kind eyes that are so, so full of love. The song ends, and the Bentley starts another. This, it thinks, is getting ridiculous. It much prefers their usual conversations, where the love in their words is not tainted by so much pain.

 

_When people talk of love I_ _’ll leave the conversation / I say I feel just fine happy with my situation / But when I look away people know my mind is straining / To where I once belong, dreaming about your heart again_

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says at last. “Look at me, will you?”

 

The demon laughs, a bitter sound. “I’m driving. You don’t want me to take my eyes off the road, do you?”

 

“I think we both know the car is the one doing most of the work, love.”

 

Crowley startles at the last word, unable to prevent himself from turning to look at the angel. Aziraphale takes advantage of the moment and snatches Crowley’s glasses from his face and shoves them into the glove compartment.

 

“There,” he says, pleased. “That’s better. Now. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

 

The demon blinks, shocked, then turns his face away, looking out the side window. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

 

“Don’t be silly. I may not have the most practice reading emotions, Crowley, but I know you. This,” he makes a wide gesture that encompasses the car, the road, and demon, “isn’t just another one of your tantrums.”

 

_“Tantrums_?!” Crowley growls. “I don’t have _tantrums_.” He shoots a glare at Aziraphale, before remembering that he isn’t wearing his glasses. “ _Go away_ , angel. Just let me drive.”

 

_Oh my love, I want you to stay / Don_ _’t leave me now or I just fade away / Oh my love don’t hurt me this way_

“Is that what you really want?” Aziraphale asks softly, hurt warring with compassion in his voice.

 

The demon crosses his arms over the steering wheel and rests his head on them, hiding his eyes.

 

“If you look me in the eyes and tell me to leave, I will,” the angel says, and means it.

 

Crowley shakes his head slightly. His eyes have always betrayed his true emotions, and then angel is too blessed good at reading them. He can’t have Aziraphale seeing them. Not now, when his hands are shaking and his heart is beating too fast in his chest. Not when desire runs hot in his veins and a very un-demon-like love refuses to be repressed any longer.

 

“Do you want me to go?” the angel asks again, pushing, but there’s an ache in his words.

 

“No.” Crowley’s reply is soft, but the Bentley has turned the music down low enough now that Aziraphale still hears it.

 

_Love of my life you_ _’ve hurt me / You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me / Love of my life can’t you see / Bring it back, bring it back / Don’t take it away from me, because you don’t know / What it means to me_

“Then talk to me.” He reaches out again, tentatively pressing a warm hand to the demon’s back. “I promise you won’t scare me away again.”

 

Face still buried in his arms, Crowley mumbles something neither the car nor Aziraphale can understand.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

 

He takes a breath, then lets it out slowly. “I go too fast for you.”

 

_Please bring it back home to me / Because you don_ _’t know what it means to me / Love of my life / Love of my life_

The look on Aziraphale’s face is full of conflicting emotions. Sorrow wins out after a moment. “I was… I was afraid, when I said that. I’m not anymore.”

 

“Oh, so it’s alright, now that there aren’t any consequences.” Crowley rounds on the angel, eyes hard and full of bitter pain. “It wasn’t worth the risk when you could get dragged back up there for it. But now that it’s perfectly safe, _now_ it’s ok to admit that you might actually feel… _Something_ for a demon.”

 

Aziraphale meets his eyes and does not look away. “Yes,” he says simply. “Now that there will be no consequences _for you_. Now that _you_ are safe from them.”

 

A new song begins as they stare at each other, neither one quite daring to speak another word. They were on the edge of something, the car could feel it. Standing on the very edge of a cliff. All it would take was a little shove to push them over.

 

_I was born to love you / With every single beat of my heart / Yes, I was born to take care of you_

“I…” Aziraphale stops, then soldiers on. “I couldn’t have lived with myself, if something had happened to you, because of me. I thought, if I pushed you away, you’d be safe. From what they would do to you if they found out that I - that you - well. If they knew just how important that you are to me.”

 

“And it never occurred to you to ask how I felt on the topic?” Crowley asks, voice hard. But his eyes are softening, a tentative tiny bit of hope rising up in him. “That maybe I might have thought that you’re worth the risk?”

 

_You are the one for me / I am the man for you / You were made for me / You_ _’re my ecstasy / If I was given every opportunity / I’d kill for your love_

The angel looks away, hands nervously tugging at his vest. “I. Well. I suppose I was being selfish. I’d rather have a world with you in it, even if it meant I could never- if I would never get to tell you how I felt. How I feel. And I won’t apologize for that.” He meets Crowley’s eyes again. “I will always put your safety above my wants, and you don’t get to ask me to change that.”

 

Crowley gapes at him, stunned. When he finally speaks, there’s real warmth in his words again. “And _I_ ,” he says, “will always put your wants above my own safety. I’d have thought you’d know that by now.”

 

_So take a chance with me / Let me romance with you / I_ _’m caught in a dream / And my dream’s come true_

Aziraphale smiles. “Which is precisely why I kept distance between us. You take too many risks with yourself, my love.”

 

The energy in the car is lighter now. Still full of unsaid words, but lighter, without the weight of pain. The demon slouches back in his seat, stretching an arm out behind the angel. “You know,” he says, “You’re going to have to let me take _some_ risks. I am a demon after all.”

 

“I should think that driving at…” Aziraphale squints at the speedometer. “ _One hundred and sixty miles per hour_ is quite risky enough.”

 

“Eh,” Crowley shrugs. “Car’s doing most of the work. You said so yourself.”

 

They’re relaxed now, most of the pain gone from the air, but it still feels off. They still have things left to say, but, it seems, no intention of saying them. The Bentley accelerates again, then swerves violently, sending Crowley flying into Aziraphale’s lap. Startled cries come from both of them, and the angel clutches the demon tightly. Crowley’s wings shoot out, wrapping around them both, prepared to cushion his angel from the crash. The car screeches to a stop, safely on the side of the road.

 

Angel and demon both take a moment to compose themselves. Crowley’s heartbeat steadies long before Aziraphale relaxes his grip on the demon’s arms. They sit there, just breathing for a moment, before they realize that they’re still wrapped in Crowley’s wings. The demon is practically on top of the angel, arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders, close enough to feel his breath on his face. “Hi,” he says. And grins.

 

“Hi,” Aziraphale repeats, a little breathless. They stare at each other.

 

“I should, uh,” Crowley starts to move away, and Aziraphale’s hands tighten on his arms.

 

“Stay,” the angel commands. “Just- just for a moment.”

 

“You’re not scared, being held by a demon then?” Crowley jokes, smiling, but there’s still a trace of hurt in his words and in his eyes.

 

Aziraphale pulls him closer, until they’re chest to chest, and he’s staring directly into the demon’s eyes. “I always feel safe with you,” he tells him like it’s fact, indisputable.

 

_Look into my eyes and you_ _’ll see / I’m the only one / You’ve captured my love / Stolen my heart_

The Bentley puts itself into park and turns up the radio. Neither the angel nor the demon notice5.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Crowley says, wrapping his wings tighter around them. “You’ll tell me if I’m going too fast?”

 

The angel smiles fondly. “My love, if you don’t speed up just a little I may be forced to do something drastic.”

 

“I think I’d like to see that,” he whispers, so close now his words are spoken almost into the angel’s mouth. He’s truly smiling now, open, honest, and full of love.

 

Aziraphale takes him at his word. He tilts his head forward, bringing their lips together in a kiss that starts off innocent - a pressing of closed lips together - and quickly morphs into something altogether sinful. Crowley moans and pushes back, pulling him closer still. Their essences mingle together, so close now that, could you see them, you would be unable to tell where one begins and the other ends.

 

_Anywhere you go, I_ _’ll be right behind you / Right until the ends of the Earth / I’ll get no sleep till I find you to tell you / That you just take my breath away / I will find you / Anywhere you go / Right until the end of the Earth / I’ll get no sleep till I find you to / Tell you when I’ve found you - I love you_

When they break apart, Crowley leans back and stares at his angel in wonder. “You… I…”

 

Aziraphale laughs, not unkindly. “You know, I’ve never seen you at a loss for words, my love.”

 

Crowley grins and rests his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, drinking in the scent of him. “I like that,” he says, closing his eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“My love.”

 

The angel smiles fondly and holds his demon close. “You are, you know. My one and only love.”

 

“And you’re mine angel. I love you. Always have, and always will. From now until the end of time.”

 

The Bentley settles, noting that its occupants don’t seem inclined to go anywhere just yet. It turns off its engine and lets the radio play on.

 

_I_ _’d like for you and I to go romancing / Say the word, your wish is my command_

_Ooh love, ooh lover boy_

 

 

 

1 The Bentley may have noticed, but it was a car, and it was doing what it had been made to do. The side effects of that didn’t bother it too much, unless its master was concerned.

2 Not that Crowley was much better. He never could manage to say what he meant, when it all came down to it. 

3 And by one we mean a Bentley, currently in possession of one Anthony J. Crowley

4 Though the engine might rumble just a little louder to show that it had heard

5 A passing truck drive does notice the lone car pulled over on the shoulder of the M25, and almost stops to see if everything is alright. Then she remembers that she’s finally done with this haul and her wife is waiting for her at home, forgetting about the Bentley on the side of the road.


End file.
